


Exquisite

by magentania (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, girl!Harry, girl!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/magentania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zara knows Harriet would be a handful. And that drives her mad because at that point, she still finds her so unique, so beautiful.</p><p>(AU in which Zayn is a uni girl studying in fashion design, and Harry is a little accident in her life.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exquisite

**Author's Note:**

> I know most of people who write girl!Direction stories don’t really change their names into girl version in case they sound like original character. But I still decided to use alternative names because 1. It sounds more reasonable. 2. It’s just my personal kink.
> 
> But I was in a dilemma whether to name female!Zayn Zaina or Zara. Because Zaina is basically the female version of his name, but I prefer the name Zara, and also this name is more suitable for this story. So in the end I chose Zara… I hope no one will mind this?! Zara is also an Arabic name so I guess it is still acceptable. (Am I correct? Please throw eggs to me if I’m tragically wrong.)
> 
> I got inspired after reading La Délicatesse by David Foenkinos. It is a great book written in perfect words. Too bad my French isn’t good enough or I really want to read the original version. (Check out this book please, it’s awesome.) But somehow this ends up being more a Zayn fic than an actual Zarry fic. If you're here for sexy and nasty girl romance I am sorry to disappoint you.
> 
> Sorry that I talk too much. This is the first (probably the last) female!Zarry fic I’ve ever written. I’m just in love with the idea of female Zayn. (and the cheeky female Harry too) I hope you guys enjoy the story :)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Exquisite**

_ex·quis·ite [ik-skwiz-it]  
_ _—_ _adjective._

1\. Of special beauty or charm, or rare and appealing excellence.  
2\. Extraordinarily fine or admirable; consummate.  
3\. Intense; acute, or keen, as pleasure or pain.  
4\. Of rare excellence of production or execution, as works of art or workmanship.  
5\. Keenly or delicately sensitive or responsive.

 

✹

 

In her life Zara has been labelled with a lot of different words. Most of them are positive and pleasant such as elegant, chic, fashionable and artistic. It sounds like a stereotype that people will give to a girl named Zara, which makes her a bit embarrassed sometimes. Even so, she still enjoys this harmless impression. Same as how people think the sky should be blue and grass should be green— it is not a pressure on her because she is simply, born with it.

 

✹

 

Zara is from a typical British family, with the Arabic temperament floating in her veins everytime her heart beats in the rhythm of the tabla. It is a kind of disposition that people can't steal or copy. Her calmness and delicacy mix together and create a unique charm of herself. "Beautiful" is an awful term to be used on her because her attitude is not only skin deep. It is grown naturally and purely.

Since she is assemble to arts, it is probably why she finds the belonging to all the manmade creations that appeal to her senses and mind. Zara has not only the passion in art, but also the excellent skills and talent. She can sit in her room and spend the whole Saturday afternoon only for painting a petal of a sunflower on her size 50 canvas. It takes times and efforts, but it is meaningful to her.

People always say that Zara perfectly represents what a Capricorn woman is like: patient, careful, kind-hearted, persistent, and responsible. She is also a family person. Growing up with three sisters, Zara has built her own sensibility as a young woman; sentimental, but not pretentious. Her mother is a huge influence to her personality. Tricia is a graceful lady. Zara’s favourite hobby in her girlhood is watching her mother shuttling around the house briefly with a vague smile. Patricia likes to wear moccasin at home, but Zara always puts a pair of imaginary high heels on her. In Zara’s opinion, her mother is the woman who has the best walk in the world. Nobody can ever have the same steps like that: confident, exquisite, along with British women’s exclusive punctiliousness. And that becomes Zara’s basic standard of beauty.

So when she saw the runway show of Christian Dior on telly the very first time in her life, she soon recognised the same excitement boiling in her vessels. Why would people hate models? Because of their wrong images of skinny shapes and their stunning faces used as the criterion of pretty? No! No! Look at their paths! Look at how they shine as they show up in a line with the perfect poise! It was not the dazzling clothes and accessories on their body that made them beautiful. Instead, those models were the keys to make everything gorgeous. Why would people hate fashion? Zara couldn’t stop asking herself. There is nothing wrong about fashion. The only thing wrong is people’s explanation about fashion. Do they even know that they miss the point?

After then, she is immediately diving herself into the world of fashion. People might think she is a material girl but in fact, her own point of view changes their thought and also makes her extra attractive. She is fond of fashion, not because of those fancy and expensive dresses and bags, but the spirit of natural beauty. Clothes should not be used to cover up. Their purpose is to motivate, and inspire.

It seems like a girl like Zara will be chased by thousands of boys and experiencing endless amounts of glorious relationship. In fact, Zara has never dated any boy; not even had a best male friend, or friends in benefit. She is not a picky girl, and she is always nice to people around her. She doesn't have problem talking to boys either. In the end, her friends make a conclusion: she is too mysterious for boys to get close to her. This reason is funny and ridiculous to her because Zara's pretty sure nobody can be simpler than her.

Even though it looks like she would be those girls who quote, "I'm only in love with my works and arts." Zara is actually looking forward to a chance of being in love like every other girl. She did fancy some boys before, and it was not a difficult task for her to catch their hearts. But she never makes it. Maybe she is too shy; maybe she doesn't find the right feeling for the next step. Her little crush always ends with no result. She becomes a little hopeless and frustrated with the situation. But on the other hand, she's also open-minded with such a little tragedy. She is not eager for love, well, not yet.

 

✹

 

Zara's favourite Arabic words:

سلام (peace)  
أمل (hope)  
عائلة (family)  
الحلم (dream)  
الحب (love)

 

✹

 

For a girl named Zara, she is not as outgoing as people may think. She has the iconic feature of every artist: alone. She finds it a bit troublesome for her to socialize, and it is not a good new for a future fashion designer. Zara has the ability to give everyone who is new to her the best impression, just like every kid who tastes ice cream the first time will never forget about how the little surprise explodes on the top of their tongue. Unfortunately, they will then notice how their conversation ends up embarrassing as fast as a melting ice cream. She can never come up with the next sentence even if she doesn’t want the conversation to end. The best she can do is always “Nice weather today.” or “I like your shirt.” which is, in her own words, “It’s like wearing a pair of espadrilles on your wedding day—tragically awful.”

So when she met the girl that would most possibly wear espadrilles with her wedding dress, Zara felt like she was Coco Chanel who just smelled the fragrance of N°5.

The day when Harriet dropped into her life was actually a horrible day in the beginning. Zara was trying to get a new flat as soon as possible because she found out her previous neighbour was a porn director who filmed tapes everywhere in the whole building. She would never forget that once when the elevator was opened, there were two naked girls making out inside along with the director holding a camera right beside them. She needed to go to her therapist for a few weeks after the nightmare happened, which made her miss a few of her favourite courses in the university. She just got the result of her last project before visiting her new place. And it was not nice enough to start her day.

Although she’d rather cringing in her seat watching a clichéd romantic movie in the cinema listening to the sound of people grinding popcorn for the rest of the afternoon, Zara still forced herself to stand up in her 4 inched wedges, stepping on the dusty stairs of Mrs. McDowell’s flat while the old lady complained about the weather and her backache. Everything was as boring as the butter on the breakfast toast that Zara was about to leave even before she saw the pattern of the vintage curtain. But an unfamiliar voice interrupted the sleepy atmosphere, just like a cat jumping on the table and spilling the milk everywhere. Suddenly the toasts were a little bit interesting.

“Hiiiiii.” This brunette cat strolled into the room as delightful as a happy dad getting his jeep ready for the Saturday fishing trip, and Zara was staring at her like a reluctant teenager daughter who’d like to stay at home with her MacBook. _Topshop_ , Zara couldn’t help but gasped as she saw the floral pants the girl was wearing. Zara didn’t really have issue against this brand but—oh God, why would this girl match her pants with a coral plaid shirt? She screamed silently in her mind again as she noticed the girl was wearing an American flag headband around her messy wavy hair. _Tragedy_. What a huge tragedy to waste her vivid green eyes and the delicate lines from her spine to her flap bottom. Every cell in Zara’s veins was squealing. She had an urge to throw a Forever 21’s dress onto that girl’s body. Or maybe a skirt, a snow leopard skirt. No-no, a black skirt with white dotted pattern, along with a dark silk blouse. THAT’S IT. That’s what she needed.

However, the girl had no idea what was going on inside Zara’s mind. She walked directly to Mrs. McDowell and reaching her hand forward, “I like this room. I’ll be moving in within 3 days.”

“What?!” Zara uttered immediately, but Mrs. McDowell’s voice was louder than hers. “That’s wonderful. I’ve already wanted to get rid of this bloody house.” The old lady replied in a raspy Scottish accent, “You’d better clean the room by yourself, I’m not your house keeper. Move in as soon as possible or my useless son is gonna be nagging at me again!”

“WAIT.” While the young and old ladies were nodding satisfiedly at each other, Zara yelled out to protest for herself, “Excuse me, how is this decided?! I was still taking my visit, and all of sudden this room is rented? I-did you even have an appointment?!”

The girl turned at her with her eyes widely opened as if she just realised that Zara was in the same room. Two seconds later she cracked a smile on her face, in the way that apparently she didn’t even pay attention to what Zara said. “Hiiiii. My name is Harriet. Not Juliet or Mariet. It’s Harriet. Har-ri-et.”

“Wh-what?”

“Am I not clear enough? Sorry. Basically it means I was given the name ‘Harriet’ after I was born to clarify my identity with the other infants in the hospital, at least it was its first function, I mean… Even though my mum calls me Hatty and my sister calls me H, legally I’m still supposed to be called Harriet. But feel free to call me Harry. So, what’s your situation then?”

Zara stared at Harriet with her mouth half-opened. Despite how slow this mystery girl talked, Zara was still unable to transform her words into normal language. After a few more seconds, she finally understood what Harriet actually meant. “Zara…Malik.” She uttered unsurely, “I was considering renting this flat. If you’re gonna take it now, it would be problems to me.”

Harriet was gazing at a corner of the ceiling with sparkles in her eyes, “I see no problems.”

“Excus—”

“We can be roommates.” Harriet turned at Zara all of sudden. The sparkles in her eyes were even brighter. “It’d be cool isn’t it? I’ve always wanted a roommate! Oh my God, I’ve already felt so excited!”

“What—”

“Nice to meet you, Laura. I’ve decided that I’m gonna take this room. You can have—I don’t know, the one across the bathroom?”

“My name is Zara—what?!”

 

✹

 

Things Zara wishes to get after moving in the new flat:

1\. A job.  
2\. A room with huge window where sunlight will come down on her bed every morning.  
3\. A pair of boots from Dr. Marten; with heels, of course.  
4\. A golden highlight in her hair.  
5\. A ticket of Yves Saint Laurent’s movie.  
6\. A new tote bag, whatever brand it is.  
7\. A boyfriend. (optional)

 

✹

 

Living with Harriet is not as awful as Zara thought—well, at least everything works fine in the beginning. Harriet has better morning habit than Zara does. It is always Harriet who rolling out of the sheets and displaying a table of delicacy before she leaves for classes. Usually at the moment Zara is still in her bed struggling with the tiny sunshine crossing her headboard. When she comes down the stairs, the exquisite breakfast that Harriet prepares for her is almost cold. And it makes Zara embarrassed all the time especially when she realised Harriet is actually better at housework than she is.

For someone who is major in English, the books Harriet carries are relatively scanty. In Zara’s words, she probably has less books than the flip flops Zara owns. Harriet is one of those who always leave their doors open. And everytime Zara passes by her room, she is stunned by how unbelievably neat that Harriet’s room is all the time. She thought Harriet would have painted her room pink or moved in a huge banana doll along her wardrobe. But those didn’t happen. In fact, Zara can even rarely find Harriet in her room.

 

✹

 

“You don’t have any flip flops? What do you wear when you go to beaches though?” A few months later Harriet asks when they are trying to apply a roll of paisley wallpaper onto the wall in the living room. Zara utters a weird sound for her throat and looks away, “I…I don’t go to beaches.”

Harriet widens her eyes, “Why? Beaches are fun.”

Zara ignores her question by staring at the colourful patterns as if they would fly away if she didn’t pay attention. She’d rather wearing a pair of sandals with her stocking on than mentioning the time she almost drowned herself in a 5 feet deep pool just for picking up her sunglasses.

 

✹

 

Harriet always comes home late. By “late” it can either mean 11 in the evening or 4 in the morning. The odd thing is that she can always get up before Zara does, and it results in the consequence that they don’t really meet each other often. The only time Zara gets to face Harriet is every Friday night after dinner, where Harriet will cringe herself in the couch begging Zara to buy her some beers. And Zara’s immutable answer is keep on neglecting her and experiencing another mental breakdown caused by mystery choice on her fashion choice. Although Zara has been reminding herself not to be judgemental on people’s different tastes in clothing, she just couldn’t make herself walk away leisurely when Harriet is in a dark blazer of Country Road while wearing a red flower headband from ASOS. It’s ridiculous that Harriet has an incredible amount of clothes but all she does is grabbing the first one or two pieces, putting them on and walking out of the door.

Zara does wonder where Harriet gets all her clothes since the quantity she owns is far more than a normal university girl does. “They are gifts, mostly.” says Harriet in a hazy voice as she gazes into distance. Zara shrugs, not planning on persisting with the question. Those nights where she looks down at her window watching Harriet jumping onto the porch from a shining black limousine have given her enough evidence. And she guesses that’s it. That’s it because Zara will never be involved in the world that Harriet is happily living in—at least she seems happy.

The thing is, Zara is actually a little bit jealous of Harriet. She can’t put in words about how attractive Harriet is when she is acting all confident and carefree. Unlike Zara’s exotic style, Harriet’s attitude is hard to define because it literally comes from nowhere. She will be those girls wearing Burberry coats dancing on the street in Paris with rain pouring down on their Chelsea boots. That upsets Zara so much because she knows Harriet is born to be put in such a scene. Despite her weird clothes and the hair that she probably never washes, Harriet still looks as classic as Balenciaga’s Mini Papier. And Zara is so frustrated on how effortless her beauty is.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” that’s the only thing Harriet respond while lowering her tone like a teenaged boy’s raspy voice.

“You are a pretty little lady, Harry.” says Zara.

Harriet giggles, looking down as her messy fringe covers her eyes, "Well thanks, Zee. but that's not that kind of things you have. You know, you're smooth, elegant, smart, polished, and beautiful. You're just—I hate this word, but—perfect."

Zara sighs, staring at her sketch book while her ears are burning on fire. "As if you didn't have these features on yourself. Harry, you're beautiful."

"Yeah," Harriet gives her a slight smile, "But you're, like, _beautiful_."

 

✹

 

Things Zara actually gets after moving in the new flat:

1\. A little bit happiness.

 

✹

 

Even though people like to stereotype her as a literary girl who only reads book and drinks tea, Zara is still looking forward to a love life. (And she finds it awkward to admit it.) “Marry yourself to fashion,” her classmate tells her, “Who needs no men when you can get Ralph Lauren?”

Zara just laughs. She wants to hold a Fendi 2Jours Ellite but she won’t reject holding someone’s hands. In general, she does enjoy her current life. But when it comes to the lazy holiday morning where she buries herself in the sheet alone in her twin size bed, the need for someone to cuddle with will smash on her like an abrupt surge. And then all of sudden this cosy moment ends up a tragedy that she is drowning in the unnecessary emotion. Or when she is in a coffee shop with her laptop and a cup of hot cocoa, she always couldn’t help but imagine a guy heading toward her direction, so close that she can smell the Dior Homme Intense from his nape. And then he widens his smile to an angle in a legit Italian style while she narrows her eyes at his uneven collars under his Armani cardigan. But Zara never tells because she clearly knows this plot is too French film-y to happen in her life.

On the contrary, Harriet’s life seems to be much more colourful. Zara believes she has some sorts of magic that she is able to friendzone every single person she meets. Even the old lady from the bakery in the block would always give her extra macarons everytime Harriet visits, despite all she buys are two pieces of doughnuts. Although Harriet is the kind of girl who bumps into the same street lamp on her way to school 3 times in a week, boys would just laugh and keep on stalking her on Facebook. They like Harriet, and Harriet likes them too.

There were also a few times when Harriet was trying to introduce guys to Zara. Even though Zara can sense that all her intension is to make Zara date one of them and mock about their relationship everyday. Fortunately, (at least in this case) she never succeeds.

The first guy was someone from Harriet’s school football team, which is quite famous in the BUCS football league but Zara totally has no idea. The bloke was called Louis, who was a bit thinner than how Zara imagined footballers were. If he didn’t show up 20 minutes late on their first date, he was actually an interesting guy with a pair of pretty blue eyes and better jokes than Harriet’s. Louis was a beautiful and witty boy, and even had the same taste in fashion with Zara, which was impressive since most of the men she met all had the stereotype that drove her crazy. However, Louis’ elegance made her breathless. Louis was too bright, and that made Zara dim herself whenever she was with him. In some ways, he reminded her of Harriet. The night when Zara came back to the flat she almost asked Harriet if she and Louis had ever developed any kind of relationship, but she held it back.

Her second date was less stressful than the one with Louis. And this time it was Zara who came to the restaurant late. The boy had already been there with two cups of coffee on the table. He ordered a skinny latte for Zara and gave her a friendly smile when she rushed to the table apologizing. His name was Liam, living 3 blocks away from Harriet’s previous flat. If Harriet didn’t tell her that he was a frequent comer in the local bar, Zara would probably think he was a nerd who enjoyed Shakespeare and The Eagles. Liam was gentle and polite, slightly nodding to every word she said even though he didn’t really understand her profession. For a moment Zara almost thought Liam could be the one to end her single status. But after they continued their date in a bar and Liam ordered 3 bottles of beer, Zara soon realised it was a bad idea. Harriet was upset when she knew that Zara ran away in the half, “How dare you? He’s the best drunk kisser you could’ve ever met!”

With her experience, Zara didn’t really trust Harriet on anymore date suggestion. But with Harriet’s insistence, Zara finally met the third guy in a McDonald’s. It was an Irish blond who laughed louder than the kids squealing in the PlayPlace. He had a typical Irish accent but at least Zara could tell his name was Niall. Niall was an endearing guy, who kept laughing at his own joke that made Zara burst into laughter too. Zara like Niall immediately, but she understood that it was the furthest level she could go because boys like Niall could only remain friendship with her. They were loud, humorous, energetic and treating every girl in the same nice way, making her feel special until she realised that she was just one of the other hundreds girls. And it did grow the bitterness in her heart when Niall started talking about Harriet. She knew Niall loved Harriet. Zara loved Harriet too. There’s not much not love about her.

Before Zara caught the bus for her classes in the afternoon, Niall swallowed another cheeseburger and looked at her. “You do know people like Harriet are pretty lonely, right?”

Zara raised her head and blinked. “She has more friends than I have shoes.”

“Well,” Niall gave her an indistinct laughter, “That’s a clue.”

 

✹

 

“My friends, there are no friends.”  
 _— Coco Chanel_

 

✹

 

There are probably a few more. But so far as Zara knows, the one for Monday and Thursday is called Hamish, the one who owns 4 Mercedes Benz’s is called Ray and the one who flies to L.A. for another girl every week is Mathew. “I know you’re wondering,” says Harriet when she rolls her wet hair up into a bun while roaming out the bathroom, “so yeah they’re all married. Well, Ray is a little bit mystery so I’m not really sure. But basically they all fuck more than one woman at the same times.”

Even though she gets paid, Harriet doesn’t really take it as a job. “Money is just added value,” she says, “Although it was my original intension, until I found it kind of…fun, I guess.” Harriet chuckles, throwing her towel up but misses in the air. She glares at it and continues, “I’m nasty.”

“You aren’t.” Zara replies sincerely. Harriet turns at her, cracking a quirky smile. “No but seriously, I am. They are…they are actually really nice to me, buying me these clothes and bags that I don’t even know how to pronounce the brands. It does make me a bit guilty about how pathetic of them that they…need me so much. They’ve got money; they’ve got prestige and an upper class status, but they still have to spend their money to embrace a girl in their arms under their wives’ noses.” She snorts, “Man says do not trust woman and woman says do not trust man. I think human beings are just unreliable.”

“You know, I’m from a single family. Over years all I’ve been doing is wasting my mother’s money. And I hate the fact that she had to give up her degree just for raising me and my sister at the age of 18 after my father left us. I don’t want to see her keep absorbing all the fees anymore especially when I reached the age when she gave up her future.” Harriet lowers her head. Her bun scatters and the threads spread over her shoulder. “But now I’ve become the kind of woman whom she hates the most.”

“Harry,” Zara interrupts her words, even though she doesn’t really know what exactly to say. “Don’t stereotype your own choice. You’re living your life, and you enjoy it. So what’s the fucking problem with it? Nobody has the right to tell you what’s right and wrong, not even yourself. Please.”

Harriet grins. The waterdrops fall down from her hair and flow through her dimples. “Basically we’re living in a world of stereotype, aren’t we? Not just women. It includes a lot of things. You can’t look at people without being judgmental, even when you’re looking at a mirror.”

She strengthens her legs, leaning her back onto the sofa, “You know who my biggest idol is? Dita Von Teese. She is so classic and charming—and badass, of course. It’s literally so amazing that she breaks people’s stupid images and creates her style. Men love her, but they have to pay. They do not own her. Instead, she rules them. And that’s my dream.”

“So you wanna be a stripper?” Zara jokes. Harriet sits up and laughs, “Well I do. But I’m a terrible dancer. My mum once sent me to a ballet class and I gave up in a week because the teacher said everyone danced like a mermaid but I was like a noodle. Till now I still have no idea what she was trying to say. I mean, mermaid can’t even dance.”

 

✹

 

 ** _Burlesque_** is a literary, dramatic or musical work intended to cause laughter by caricaturing the manner or spirit of serious works, or by ludicrous treatment of their subjects. The word derives from the Italian burlesco, which, in turn, is derived from the Italian burla – a joke, ridicule or mockery.  
— _Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia_

“It was never about sex. But you know,” says Harriet, “Men exist.”

 

✹

 

Harriet is showing off her new tattoos when Zara returns from the Laundromat. She puts down her basket and watches Harriet spinning happily in the room pointing at the spot on her biceps. “It’s a rose,” says Harriet. “Not too hard to tell.” Zara shrugs, folding her clothes absent-mindedly, “What is it for, though?”

“It doesn’t really mean a thing, I say.” Harriet answers delightfully, “I was in a good mood so this happened. I don’t know, I just really like rose. They are sassy flowers. By the way—” She turns around briefly with her hands on her hips, grinning like a 12-year-old trying to impress her classmates, “We should visit the tattoo shop together next time! You need to update your left arm. It’s quite empty.”

“I’d like to keep them irregular. It’s more artistic,” says Zara, raising her right arm proudly. The aesthetic patterns are lined up from her collarbones to her wrist as if they are born to be inked on her skin.

Harriet gazes at her tattoos with twinkling eyes, “They are stunning.” She breathes, “I never know how to arrange my tattoos like you do. They are kinda scattered all over my body like a kid’s doodle book. And I do regret some of them.”

“I do the same thing, too.” Zara responds, “I got most of my tattoos on impulse, and then get bored from them after a while. It’s my bad habit because I tend to forget that my skin is not a canvas. I can’t paint whatever I want and then remove them due to my moods.”

“Hmm, I got it.” Harriet nods slowly, “That’s why you love clothes.”

Zara beams a smile.

 

✹

 

 ** _Random fact:_** the word “tattoo” is the most misspelled word in the English system;  
probably as misunderstood as its own culture.

 

✹

 

When she notices the light in the room is on, Zara is a little bit confused because it is Thursday evening and Harriet is supposed to be somewhere having fun till 2 am. She heads into the room hesitantly. Harriet is beside the window, facing herself at the curtains.

“Harry?” Zara whispers. Harriet’s shoulders twist slightly, but not turning her face. “Oh hey, Zee. I didn’t know you’re home.” She replies quickly, trying to wiping something off her face. Zara frowns and steps forward, “Are you alright? Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Harriet pauses a few seconds, and then raises her head haltingly. “It’s just an accident.”

Zara gasps as soon as she spots the bruise on Harriet’s cheekbone that is less than an inch away from her eyes. “What happened?! Who did this? Was it Hamish?” She rushes toward Harriet’s side to examine the wound. Harriet shakes her head calmly and answers, “Technically he didn’t. But it was caused by him, generally.”

Her words are not an efficient explanation. Zara asks again worriedly, “I don’t understand. Who did it then?”

Harriet looks away and shrugs, “Jennifer.”

“Jennifer who?”

“Jennifer, Hamish’s wife.” Harriet tries to let out laughter, but it ends up being a weird sound from her throat. “She…she didn’t tell him that her yoga class was canceled today. I guess she was planning to give him a surprise but she didn’t expect that she was the one who’s going to be surprised…in…an awful way.” she sighs and flips over her messy hair, “When she got home, Hamish and I was on the sofa and I was helping him…ugh…that’s not be that explicit. But it was something you wouldn’t like to see your husband doing with another girl, especially when you were prepared to have a fancy dinner with him. Oh wait, did I mention how pretty she is?”

Harriet blinks. Her tone is oddly full of elation. “Her hair was so amazing! It was the same as Elizabeth Taylor in _Giant_. And I never knew it would work so perfect with blonde hair too. They were so smooth and shining under the lights! If I didn’t meet her in that situation, I’d have asked her which hair salon she went, hahaha. Imagine if I did ask? ‘sorry I fucked your husband but first of all can you tell me where did you do your hair?’ hahahahahaha.” Harriet bursts out into laughter and covers her face with her hands. But Zara doesn’t laugh or say a word.

“Anyway, she was furious. At least that’s the best word to describe.” Harriet stops laughing abruptly, murmuring in her palms, “I don’t understand. She was still so pretty even when she threw her phone at me, although I could have been blinded. I-I really don’t understand? She was in an ivory gown, as beautiful as a Greek goddess. I can’t even compare myself to a dust on her flare. I don’t understand why I was there. I don’t understand why she couldn’t be holding Hamish’s arms and going to the restaurant together; he complains about his work and she tells him the gossip she heard from her yoga club. And then they go home, watching the same old movie over and over again. You understand? They could’ve been so wonderful. Why was I there, Zee? Why was I there?”

Harriet knees down, trying to hold back the whimpers as hard as she can. Zara doesn’t know how to reply. All she can do is pulling Harriet into her arms gently. ‘You were there because he chose you’, that’s the sentence that Zara can’t slip out.

“God I’m such a human being of failure.” Harriet mumbles.

“You aren’t.” Zara pats her head, “You’re the next Dita Von Teese. And you’re gonna get more bruises because people are throwing cashes at you so aggressively.”

“How? I can’t even twerk properly.”

“Wait, does Von Teese twerk?”

By the end of the night, they still can’t figure out both of their questions before Harriet falls asleep. Her hair spreads out like a bottle of wine spilling all over her pillow. On the contrary, Zara is wide awake. She stares at the moonlight outside Harriet’s room, trying to remember all the old tales her mother had told her during every bedtime story. And they are all so far away; far enough that she finally recalls that she is no more a little girl. The world is racing so briefly that everything seems to be created in a hurry. It’s too fast for her to pay attention to the delicacy this world has offered.

But Zara loves to dream, in some ways that makes her feel more realistic. In her mind she is still the girl running wild in her garden, copying the catwalk she learned from the model shows on TV, picking up the flowers and decorating them all over her hair and her dress. There was a time that she could laugh so loud with tiny little things like these that she could have forgotten in a few hours but end up remember them in a life time; because they are beautiful and indispensable.

 

✹

 

Zara closes her eyes.

 

 

 

 

Fin.


End file.
